you make me strong
by poopcuties
Summary: Val's screechy, cat-like voice is suddenly echoing throughout the entire district, with a single name playing on her red painted lips. "Ally Dawson." /or/. In which Austin and Ally both get reaped for the 62nd annual Hunger Games. Throughout their journey of avoiding getting killed, making new friends, and making vengeful enemies, they find each other. The Hunger Games AU. Auslly.


**an:** yooo i'm back with another story; but this time it's multi-chaptered. yikes. anyways here a little backstory: i was trying to think of a good prompt, and i was torn between writing a thg au or an hp au. i realized that i probably couldn't do harry potter any justice, so here i am with a little the hunger games story. i just wanna make things clear right now: if this story _does _get good feedback, and i _do_ decide to continue, updates won't be all that frequent. maybe once every two weeks at the most, i promise you. i pretty much wrote this just for fun, but i'm hoping that i'll find the effort to continue in the future. :)

also, in no way, shape, or form is this ally/dallas. i needed ally to have a close friend from her district and it couldn't be trish because she's a girl (you'll find out why this is significant in the next) and it couldn't be dez because i already know what i'm gonna do with his character. plus, dallas is a cutie and i love him. p.s, the other characters will probably appear in chapter 3, if things go as planned. okay i'm sry that was so long lmao, but i just needed to clarify a bunch of things. anyways enjoy! i rly hope you guys like it and pls review if you do! pls tell me what you like and what u hope will happen in future chapters! thanks! :)

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><p>There's a part of her that realizes that she might be a little whacked up in the head. That it wasn't normal to be staring at her calendar unblinkingly, for ten minutes straight. Though, she can't really say that her sudden realization is actually so "sudden" after all, considering that she seems to be in the exact same position of craziness every single year, five times in a row to be exact.<p>

She breaks out of her stupor due to the amused, yet gentle resonance of her best friend's voice. "I understand that today's a big day and all, but are you seriously doing this again?"

She swiftly turns her head to see him, disheveled brown hair and everything, leaning against the frame of her door. "Huh?" She asks, pausing shortly to smoothen out her skirt. "How'd you even get in here, Dallas, the door's locked?" Ally questions, though, a smile is playing at her lips. The sight of him is oddly comforting; the relief that floods through her momentarily distracts her from her thoughts.

"I have my ways," he replies, waggling his eyebrows in an attempted mysterious manner. The blank face Ally gives him wasn't the reaction he was hoping for. "Kidding," he says as he makes his way to sit on her bed, "your dad let me in."

With a little flop that causes the bed to bounce and her hair to fly, Ally lays down and changes the subject. "How can you be so calm right now?" An exasperated sigh escapes her mouth. "I literally feel like I'm going crazy." It takes all of Ally's willpower to not tangle her hands in her hair and rip chunks out, strand by strand, but she somehow manages to restrain herself. As odd as it may seem, her thoughts and actions are slightly justifiable, considering that in the next few hours she'll be finding out if she was going to make it out of this year alive.

Dallas plops himself down next to her as they both stare blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly, his demeanor is changed and he's no longer smiles, laughter, and giggles. The room is cold, filled with sadness and worry. It happens once every year, and Ally just feels _so_ uncomfortable because things aren't supposed to be like this. With her and Dallas it's all sunshine and giggles, not excessive crying and shitty anxiety.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. We're gonna be fine," he reassures her, in an attempt to comfort the brunette. _No we're not,_ she wants to say, but she can hardly speak, let alone fucking breathe. His hand somehow finds her's and he strokes it gently, as if she's a fragile piece of antique china. "Our names are only in there like what, five times? There's thousands of names in that bowl, I'd say our chances are pretty slim." It's true, though; both Ally's and Dallas' fathers work as system analysts, so it was unnecessary for them to sign up for tesserae.

_"They're not gonna pick us, Alls."_

This is what Ally likes about Dallas. He's funny, charming, and carefree, but when the time is right— he always knows when the time is right —he'll be sweet, comforting, and relaxing, and she loves him for it. If her love is considered platonic or not, she doesn't know. What she does know, though, is that she's doesn't currently want to be in a relationship. Times aren't right and she doesn't want to be in love with someone when there's going to be a constant impending fear of loss hanging over both of their heads. It's not right.

With a tight squeeze of his hand, Ally speaks again. "Promise?" She asks, even though she knows that a promise would do absolutely nothing in this situation.

The grin Dallas gives her makes her smile, though, and so does his reply. "Promise."

His hands wrap around her waist as they still lay in her bed, moving them into a spooning position. "Let's go to sleep, your dad'll wake us up when it's time. Don't wanna think 'bout this anymore," his words slur at the end and his voice shakes. The action makes Ally more nervous than she already is. The reminder that there's a possibility that Dallas might get chosen too, and that _nobody_ is safe, sets Ally off, causing her stomach to fill with dread.

"Okay," she whispers, because she can tell that Dallas is worried, even if he's so great at hiding it.

Ally tries to sleep, she really does. She can't though, as her thoughts are slowly chewing up her brain, eating her from the inside out. But this is what life has come to now, so instead of screaming and crying and probably going clinically insane, she focuses on the hands that are entwined with hers, attempting to push all thoughts of the reaping and The Hunger Games out of her mind.

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><p>When her eyes open she comes face to face with her dad hovering over her bed, a troubled look plastered onto his face. Lester attempts to smile, to be strong for her, but it comes out more of as a forced grimace. "It's time to go Ally, we have to be there in ten minutes."<p>

For the millionth time in a single day, Ally's heart drops again. "Oh. Okay," she says with a slight nod, "I'll wake up Dallas." Next to her a snore sneaks it's way out of Dallas' mouth. In any other situation, she probably would have laughed. Nothing about today is worth laughing at, though.

Before she makes a move to wake Dallas up, Lester lets out a small squeak, interrupting her actions. "Yes?" She questions, slightly confused.

Lester scratches the back of his neck nervously before blurting out, "You'll be okay Ally, you always are."

At this, Ally smiles. "Thanks dad." They share a quick, toothy grin, and Ally would have said more, but she really just doesn't know what to say at the moment. She doesn't even believe him anyways; no one is ever safe anymore, and it would be stupid to get your hopes up on something so deathly, only to be devastatingly disappointed if things possibly don't work out. It'd be irrational, in the world we live in today.

And with that, Ally wakes Dallas up with just a simple shake and a quiet "it's time."

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><p>They arrive at the ceremony five minutes too early with enough worry to feed all of Panem in its entirety. Before they separate, they get their fingers pricked together, which honestly felt like nothing to Ally, because the only thing she feels right now is numbness (which is depriving herself of feeling already, in itself).<p>

Well, maybe she can feel one other thing. Dallas' hand is sweaty and shaking, just like hers, but the familiar feeling of contact with someone she trusts with her life gives her a sense of gratitude that only not getting reaped can offer.

As the clock counts down to two minutes till twelve, more and more people start to shuffle into their respected age and gender groups. Ally's grip on Dallas' hand is as tight as ever, but she can feel the depleting pressure of his fingers on her knuckles as he see's that almost all of the teenagers are already standing in the large crowd. Dallas leans down till he's only a mere centimeter away from her ear. "We gotta go now, Ally," he whispers softly, untangling their hands.

The frown on her face visibly deepens at the thought of the reaping. "Mhmm," she replies, with a nervous nod of her head. Her face is contorted into a look that can only be described as utter disgust, but there's still an itching feeling of sadness at the back of her head, which Dallas seems to notice (as he always does).

"_Hey_," he speaks, his voice thick, laced with concern. "We'll be okay, yeah? I made you a promise earlier, and I hope you know that I fully well intend on keeping it."

Sometimes Ally thinks that Dallas may just be too good for her. Too good for this world, in fact. On this pessimistic, dark, and depressing planet, Dallas is the ray of sunshine that keeps this earth bright and happy (or at least as bright and happy as this world can get). Sometimes she wonders where she'd be without him. _Probably dead_, she thinks, and this time she's most likely right.

With quivering lips, Ally speaks again. "Promise?"

"Promise."

They share a quick, bittersweet smile and Ally's finger twitches slightly because all she wants to do is grip onto his hand like her life depends on it, but this time she forces herself not to as they go their separate ways. The reaping has _officially_ just begun.

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><p>It's quite hot today, Ally realizes as she joins the crowd of anxious sixteen year old girls. She's been sweating ever since she stepped foot outside, though maybe the fact that her forehead is literally drenched in fluids isn't all that due to the weather, but mostly just because she's been so fucking nervous that she honestly feels like she's going to piss herself. It wouldn't be the first time she's done it, considering how insanely awkward she is, though the last time it happened was when she was eight years old, and quite frankly, she hopes it stays that way.<p>

On the stage sits five chairs, two glass bowls, and one podium. The mayor, Val Crawford, and three district 5 victors occupy the seats, while five Ally Dawson's and thousands of other names occupy the bowl. Five seems to be the running number throughout this year's game (naturally, Ally resents it).

A few seconds later the mayor begins to tell his stupid annual speech about the history of Panem. Mostly, Ally tunes him out. She's heard this speech four times before, she doesn't need to hear it again. Instead, she begins to tap her foot impatiently to an improvised beat. She quite likes it, honestly; if she wasn't about to find out her fate in a few minutes, she probably would've added lyrics to it as well, maybe.

"Welcome, welcome!" A voice similar to nails scratching on a board speaks. Ally's thoughts of music halt almost immediately, as her head whips up faster than lightning strikes. Her eyes lock straight ahead, staring up at the one and only Val Crawford, district 5's escort. Her outlandishly voluminous hair and over extravagant cheetah print clothes look as horrendous as ever, but her screeching, high pitched voice is what truly makes Ally want to tear her ears off. "Happy Hunger Games," she says, "and may the odds be ever in your favor." As much as Ally hates her voice, she despises her words much, much more.

Her foot is tapping insanely now. The beat is gone, but it keeps her much more calm and patient. The churning in her stomach hurts to the point where she feels like she's about to explode, and she actually starts to hope that she would. Exploding from nervousness would be ten times better than getting reaped. You'd die either way, but one of those causes of death is cake compared to the other.

Ally's hands clench and the crescents her fingers leave on her skin are deep, but she doesn't feel a thing. _Please don't be me or Dallas_, she prays, _please don't be me or Dallas._

As Val's hand, dressed in rings and fake nail decor, dig into the bowl, the crowd goes silent in distress, hoping the unlucky name the slip of paper reads isn't them. Standing on the tips of her toes, leaning forward in anticipation, Ally feels like she's about to throw up. She repeats her mantra as a whisper now, "Please don't be me or Dallas."

Val Crawford's pointer finger and thumb snatch a slip out of the bowl, and the world stops moving. The entire crowd is filled with worry, and there's a select few out there with tears leaking out of the corner of their eyes. Ally isn't one of them. She'll be strong for her dad. She'll be strong for Dallas. She'll be strong for herself.

"Ladies first!" Val says, and Ally lets out a breath because it isn't Dallas. Val smoothens out the paper and clears out her throat, as primly and properly as possible.

"Please don't be me," Ally murmurs, "please don't be me."

Val's screechy, cat-like voice is suddenly echoing throughout the entire district, with a single name playing on her red painted lips.

_"Ally Dawson."_


End file.
